


Intergalactic

by OrangePatrick



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Ancient Rome, Alternate Universe - Angels, Alternate Universe - Childhood Friends, Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - Pen Pals, Alternate Universe - Reincarnation, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Alternate Universe - Teachers, Alternate Universe - Vampire Slayer, Alternative Universe - FBI, Implied/Referenced Character Death, M/M, POV Second Person, Soulmates, Temporary Character Death, nonbinary characters - Freeform, teen warning is for swearing in like one section, this is a reincarnation fic guys its implied that theyve died like 8 or 9 times
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-17
Updated: 2016-05-29
Packaged: 2018-06-08 06:03:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6841837
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OrangePatrick/pseuds/OrangePatrick
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>every time we die, a piece of us becomes a star. galaxies form from single souls. modern astronomy has observed two bar spiral galaxies with hooked arms, forever connected in a dizzying dance throughout the universe. these are soulmates.</p><p>10 lifetimes, 10 worlds— 10 universes where we found each other.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. one thru five

**Author's Note:**

  * For [DamienVoid](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DamienVoid/gifts).



> gifted to DamienVoid for creating such amazing art!

**_one._ ** _ We were citizens of ancient Rome. _

You were a scholar, educated and aware of things like politics and poetry. My mother had taught me to read, once upon a time, but I had been alone for so long that I could only understand street signs. I was a slave.

 

The first time I ever saw you was after my first win in a gladiator ring. Your eyes looked like the cloudless sky, a blue so clear that they seemed surreal. It almost seemed like you were proud of me-- a stranger. War was never something that suited you, nor this idle fighting. When my master collected me from the ring, those eyes looked so sad.

 

(That happened so many times, didn’t it? That was your destiny, for your sad eyes to haunt me.)

 

You came for me in the dead of night. I don’t know how you bribed the guards, but you slipped me out of my cage before my battle the following morning.

 

You took me to the top of our city wall, where we found a dark place in the long stretch between burning watchtowers. I told you that I thought your eyes were beautiful. You told me that they were the same color as my own, but I didn’t believe you-- I could never find such beauty within myself. I took your hand in mine; your nails were clean, short, filed. My calloused fingertips felt wrong against your smooth skin, yet you held me close and taught me every single constellation that you could find.

 

(I couldn’t see the pictures that these vague freckles in the sky made. Maybe I was staring too long at your own lightly speckled skin, dotted just a shade darker than the rest of your skin tone.)

 

_ Can you see it? _ you asked. I nodded and traced the bridge of your nose with my forefinger.

 

_ I can see it, _ I whispered as you leaned into my touch.

 

You kissed me under the light of the Milky Way as I curled my fingers into your hair.

 

We went back to the coliseum just before dawn. I watched you walk away as the sun began turning the purple night sky a dusty pink. Nothing has ever been more beautiful to me that the shadow cast by your receding figure.

 

When they dragged me back into the stadium, I couldn’t find you in the crowd.

 

I put up a valiant effort, but these things are a fight to the death. If I didn’t lose now, I would have lost soon.

 

I barely felt it when his spear pierced me. I’d found you, your eyes horrified-- oh, so  _ blue-- _ as I died before you. It was like losing something that I’d never had.

 

You died while studying in Pompeii just a few days later, your body so perfectly preserved by ash that I’m sure my soul would be able to recognize you.

 

The astronomers found two new stars in the sky, while I found you.

* * *

 

**_two._ ** _ They set you to the basement because they pitied how alone I was hunting for things that most people didn’t believe in. _

My mother was abducted by aliens when I was nine. Everyone claimed that I was making up stories for why she would abandon me, but some things just can’t be explained rationally. Not even your PhD in human biology could sweep some of the things I’ve seen under the rug.

 

(It’s my favorite irony: all the living things spread across your planetary bodies, and yet in this lifetime you only believed in life on a single planet in this vast universe.)

 

They called them the  _ X-Files. _ All the things that no one wanted to figure out-- ghosts without a physical footprint to follow. But I believed differently. You claimed to have joined the FBI to distinguish yourself, but maybe not the way that you expected.

 

(I never let things go the way you expect, do I? Your lives would be so  _ boring _ without me there to meddle with your long-term plans.)

 

This was a lifetime that we got to see the world together, but not one that I have to tell you the end of, do I?

* * *

 

**_three._ ** _ You owned the local coffee shop right across from the Starbucks I worked at. _

It was the most pristine form of a hipster cafe that I had ever seen-- and I had never even stepped inside. As Robert Pattinson so famously coined, the first description that came to mind whenever I walked past your place was “pretentious dishevelment.” All I could see within your translucently tinted windows was a brick wall covered in blackboards, where the menu items had been written in various pastel chalks, and a few scattered tables with mismatched chairs circling them. For someone with an asymmetrical bedhead haircut, chipped black nail polish, and slept-in eyeliner, maybe I wasn’t one to talk.

 

But I digress.

 

I’d seen you unlocking the shop in the mornings before, which is really the only reason I knew that you were the owner-- or at least, a high-up manager. From what I could tell, only a handful of people worked there. Not like I really payed any attention, seeing as I was constantly busy during my own shift, of course.

 

(I’ve always been a liar, haven’t I? Of  _ course _ I paid attention to you. I am  _ always _ paying attention to you.)

 

Was I ever going to swallow my pride and go talk to you? Probably not. Because while my coworkers raved about the imported bean quality, and while I had to admit that your slicked back orange hair and pastel sweater vests were kind of a little appealing maybe, I could not bear the thought of ducking my head through that obnoxious red door.

 

Or, maybe I could. As long as no one saw me. And as long as you didn’t know who I was.

 

(How many times has it been me finding you? How many times have you found me? I’ve always been a bit more proactive than you, though, so I think I win. Not like it’s a competition or anything.)

 

(It’s totally a competition. And I’m totally winning on the offensive front.)

 

It was a rainy Saturday and I hadn’t been scheduled a shift, but I was walking the familiar way to work anyway. My wet hair clung to the nape of my neck uncomfortably and my clothes were sticking to my skin by the time I reached the crosswalk. Instead of punching the pedestrian button and crossing the street, I turned the corner and ducked into your coffee house.

 

Immediately, I’m greeted with the universal earthy smell of ground coffee combined with sharp cinnamon. A small bell rang overhead as the door fluttered shut.

 

_ Every time a bell rings, an angel gets his wings. _

 

That was the first thing you ever said to me, slipping through your crooked smile as you tucked a stray strand of burnt orange hair behind your ear.

 

_ I can’t believe you just quoted a Christmas movie at me in the middle of April, _ I had snorted, kicking off extra water from my combat boots before stepping any farther into your space.

 

Your blue eyes had lit up with laughter.  _ Are you telling me that you only watch Christmas movies during the Christmas season? _

 

_ Depends on the Christmas movie, _ I amended as I scanned those godawful blackboards of menus. To be quite honest, I had no idea what I even wanted, or what you even offered, nor was I really focusing on what I was reading. Your voice was musical, dammit.

 

Finally, I just asked,  _ What’s your favorite thing to make for yourself? _

 

You had told me that you were more of a tea drinker, and that was the instant that I knew we could never be friends.

 

Preferring tea over coffee? As  _ if. _

 

Not in my house, son.

 

You made me an espresso-infused hot chocolate and topped it with whipped cream in a perfect spiral. I noticed the mug rack behind the counter was full of mismatched cups of various widths and sizes, a few looking more like bowls than mugs. I picked a spot on the couch pushed up against one of the walls and curled up, my wet clothes sending goosebumps across my skin as I clutched the hot cocoa like a lifeline.

 

A few minutes later, you rounded the counter and sat in the opposite side of the couch, picking up a dogeared book from the short table beside the sofa arm. We sat together in silence save for your turning pages and my occasional accidental slurping. Neither of us moved until a sudden clap of thunder caused us both to startle. We stared at each other with wide eyes before we burst into nervous laughter together.

 

_ I’m not a fan of storms. _

 

_ Yeah, me neither. _

 

_ Did you forget an umbrella when you left the house this morning? _

 

_ No, it just had a hole in it. That’s why I’m soaking wet. _

 

We stared each other down for a split second before I laughed again.

 

_ Yes, I forgot my umbrella. _

 

_ Perhaps I can give you a ride later. _

 

I pushed my bangs out of my face as my cheeks heated in a mild blush.  _ That would… be lovely. Thank you. _

* * *

 

**_four._ ** _ It was my first time picking up the twins from kindergarten. _

My hands were pushed deep into the pockets of my grey basketball shorts as I waited in the main hall with other parents, some still in their business suits and others in sweatpants. A few glanced at me, wondering who I could possibly be, a new face in an old crowd. I idly wondered if there were too many motor oil stains on my hoodie, blemishing this crowd of Suburbia, but I was probably just being dramatic.

 

(‘Dramatic’ has always been my specialty. That’s what you always tell me, anyway.)

 

It was nearing Halloween; the halls were decorated with 6-year-olds’ pumpkin art and blocky handwriting on what they were going to wear as a costume when they went trick-or-treating. It was my first time inside the school and only the second time their mother had asked me--  _ let _ me, more like-- pick up the kids. The first time, I had simply pulled up into the circle drive and waited for the two to come outside. They hadn’t batted an eyelash, simply excited to see me, but my ex-wife had suggested that this time I actually wait inside. She’s the kind of woman that you don’t contradict, ex-wife or not.

 

I was still new to the whole ‘dad’ thing. We’d married back when I was at the tail-end of nineteen; she’d told me she was pregnant when I was twenty-three. Neither of us were in the place to have kids, and our relationship had always been just a little rocky. She wanted to keep the baby, though. Then I fucked up a few too many times-- it’s been six years, and I finally received custody for every other weekend.

 

The bell rang.

 

I had never seen so many children at once, a flood of little bodies rushing off to find their parents. Neither of my kids were in to rushing through things, my son simply because his introverted personality made him keep space between himself and other kids and my daughter due to timing out her calculated actions. You stepped out into the hall when they did, and I kind of felt like a douche for leaning up against the wall the way that I did, but you smiled so warmly at me that I stopped feeling almost-thirty.

 

(I knew you better in this life than I had in those most recently passed. Our souls were magnetized towards each other. Could you feel it in your chest? Looking at you was like craving to grab ahold of the wind.)

 

_ You must be their father, _ you greeted me. I was a little too caught up in how the fluorescent lighting gave your ginger hair a halo.  _ The twins talk about you a lot, although I’ve noticed that they don’t seem to see much of you. _

 

It was a bold thing to say, but this version of you was brash-- gentle but headstrong in a way that came off to the unobservant as naivety.

 

_ I don’t get to see them very often,  _ I had told you honestly. My son clung to your leg while I hoisted my daughter to my hip. _ I’m glad that I get to now, though. _

 

(Your voice has always been musical, lilting and polished. Your stars serenade me if I ask nicely enough-- but that’s mostly because every single piece of you has always loved teasing me.)

 

I got to pick up the kids every Friday. The twins asked me if I’m in love with you after our fifth day, because I picked them up a little later than the rest of the kids and I always took the time to smile and converse with you.

 

How does one explain to a six-year-old that another person can make them feel like they’re standing in the sun, a breezeless summer day with no humidity? I hadn’t had an answer for them then, just rolled my eyes instead and laughed and said,  _ Love doesn’t work quite that fast in my experience. _

 

(I’ve had since the beginning of time to fall for you. Loving you is more instinct than breathing.)

 

The last week before the school went on winter break, you organized a little party for your class. If I wasn’t smitten already, I was sold at the sight of you handing me hot chocolate while wearing the absolute most ridiculous Santa hat. I teased you about it relentlessly as we stood side-by-side against the classroom wall, overseeing the little ones interacting and overeating brownies and cookies. You had a quip for every gentle insult that I shot your way until I asked you if you were free that Saturday. I’d never seen a cuter blush as you stumbled over your tongue and almost spilled cocoa all over that ugly Christmas sweater.

 

_ Tomorrow-- Saturday-- yes, uhm, okay. Saturday sounds fine. Saturday is good. _

 

_ Good, good. _

 

Then came the fumbling exchange of numbers, of times and locations and ideas. We agreed on just coffee, a little place halfway between your apartment and mine. Just standing next to you made me feel lighter, the weightless feeling of acceptance and hope.

 

One of your students had dragged you away then, pulling you towards a short table covered in coloring pages of snowmen and Disney characters and bow-wrapped boxes. My son was over there, beaming at you like you were the sun. (You are, you are, you are. Thousands of suns of thousands of solar systems. I can name them all.)

 

Outside, it began to snow.

 

(You always loved the cold and I hated it. It’s always been like this no matter where or how we find each other. But I could smile at the snow this time, just for you.)

 

Saturday morning, I ran late, rushing to get the twins ready for daycare, just for the couple hours I planned to spend with you. You were at the tips of my fingers, the threshold of my grasp. When I arrived at our prearranged destination, you weren’t anywhere. I was only ten minutes late, but you weren’t  _ there. _

 

I waited, and I waited, and I waited.

 

The next Friday, a different teacher waved away your students.

 

(How could I not feel your soul? How had I not seen a new star in the sky?)

* * *

 

**_five._ ** _ I had a trunk full of crosses and stakes under my bed, and you were giving me a lecture on properly blessing holy water. _

You were sitting legs crossed on my bed as you told me,  _ It has to be done by some kind of ordained minister, or else it’s ineffective. I doubt any of this is actual holy water. How are you even an effective hunter? _

 

I wanted to be offended, but I also wanted you to stay there, relaxed against my pillows.

 

_ Trust me, it’s real holy water, _ I’d laughed, rolling my eyes.  _ Are you gonna ask if the garlic is real too? _

 

You’d smiled at me then, softly, like the edge of sunset in the earliest stages of dawn.

 

_ I didn’t have any doubts about that part, no. _

 

I twirled a stake between my fingers like a baton in my best attempt to seem indifferent.

 

The first day I met you, you called yourself my “Watcher,” told me that I had a destiny to fulfill, and I’d punched you in the face.

 

In my defense, how was I supposed to react? A strange older man appears on my doorstep the night after I move to a brand new town and declares himself a “watcher.” It just  _ sounds _ creepy. I had patted you down, dragged you inside, and waited for you to recover from the hit.

 

(The raw superhuman strength from this lifetime… It was one of my favorites. You’re more elegant than I am, though. Momentum versus patience.)

 

You wanted to train me, to hone my skills and help me use my abilities to my greatest advantage. (You’re destined to be a teacher. How many lifetimes have you spent filling that role? And I’ve never seemed to learn enough from you.) I’d spent so much time firing questions your way, demanding answers that you didn’t always have, but you were soft and steady and I relied on you. Three days into our meeting, I relied on you.

 

_ So are we patrolling tonight or what? _

 

You’d looked up at me from your inspection of my weaponry and shrugged.  _ Are you sensing anything? _

 

When I snorted and scoffed, you had only frowned and told me that I needed to work on becoming more deeply connected with my senses, or whatever. Part of my Slayer ability was being able to sense danger, but I was always on alert anyway so it never really made much of a difference to me.

 

I closed my eyes and tried to focus. Somewhere far away, darkness ebbed and flowed like a small wave; much closer, though, was your dull heartbeat and the rush of blood in your veins. Alive and in front of me.

  
_ We don’t need to tonight. We’re good right here. _


	2. six

**_six._ ** _ You were my master, I your Padawan. _

You loved me but I didn’t know until it was too late. I’m sorry-- so, so sorry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (((revenge of the sixth ;D)))


	3. seven thru nine

**_seven._ ** _ We lived as far away from each other as we could get. _

Literally. You were in Maine, a yearly average temperature of less than 55 degrees, while I spent my days in the outskirts of San Diego, sunburnt and calloused from outdoor running. It was the fifth grade. You know how those tail-end elementary school teachers get: they want to polish you before sending you off to middle school, so they gave us penpals from across the country to make it more interesting. In my opinion, it just made our correspondence incredibly late. I’m still not sure how they paid for postage.

_ Dear boy I’ve never met before who lives in Maine, _

__ _ I can’t imagine what it must be like to live so far up north. My mom and I move a lot, but we’ve only ever been places where it’s warm. New Mexico, Arizona, southern California. Does it rain a lot there? Or would it all just be snow? It never really rains here. I wish we would go somewhere where it did. _

__ _ What do you like to do there? Mostly I ever just ride my bike. It’s rough having to go uphill but otherwise I bike more than any kid I know. The sunburns are wicked, though. _

__ _ I wonder how long they’ll have us write to each other. It seems like we live so far away that we won’t be able to send very much back and forth before the school year is over. _

__ _ Anyway. It’s nice to meet you. My name is Ani, but it’s NOT a girl’s name! _

(Do you ever cringe looking at the things you did when you were, say, ages nine through thirteen? I hate to reflect on this stuff, it’s so embarrassing, but it always makes you laugh.)

It took  _ ages _ to get a reply. My teacher never had any replies for us-- as the penpal system was set up through the school-- but I was eager to hear back from you. It was so exciting to be talking to someone across the world (at least, that’s what it felt like) and I was impatient. Were you not finished writing? Did your letter get lost in the mail?

Slowly, replies started trickling in, each of them addressed to my school from its partner in Maine. Each new batch put me on the edge of my seat, wondering if one of them would have my name on it. When your letter finally came, it was in a deep blue envelope. (You picked it out yourself. You had good taste for a fifth grader.)

_ Dear boy I have never met from San Diego: _

__ _ That was kind of a rude way to open a letter, don’t you think? Did they not tell you my name or something? It’s Ben, by the way. _

__ _ Dear Ani-NOT-A-GIRL’S-NAME, _

(Did you  _ have _ to start with that? I think it might be the most cringe-worthy part of it all.)

_ I’ve never lived anywhere outside of Maine. I’ve been in the same house my whole life. It’s very interesting that you move a lot. The main characters in all my books are like that. Always moving. I think that would be really fun, because you would get to see so many places before you’re even a teenager. _

__ _ It rains a TON here. I like the rain though. Have you ever played in the rain? I think it’s more fun than just going to the boring old swimming pool. I do like the beach, though. We live really close to it, just a walk away. And it only ever snows during winter, duh. Why would it snow when it’s not cold? Summer gets up to, like, eighty degrees! _

__ _ I do like to travel, though. Like I said, it is interesting to see different places. Sometimes my family and I go to Florida during spring break. Have you ever been to Florida? I think it’s lovely. It’s probably like California. _

__ _ I like to read a lot. And I don’t bike very often, mostly because I can walk anywhere I want to and when you walk places you can carry things easier than trying to balance on a bike. Do you have to deal with a lot of tourists, since you live in San Diego? Portland is the biggest city in Maine so there are always people around. People visit the port a lot because it’s really pretty. I would visit here even if I didn’t have to live here. _

__ _ I agree with you about the school year being too short. Do they send our letters back and forth with planes or with regular mail trucks? I bet sending them on mail planes would be a lot faster. _

__ _ Anyway, I think I’m writing too much. I probably didn’t ask enough questions about you, but I’ll get better. After all, we don’t really know each other yet. How should I know what to ask you about? _

__ _ Sincerely, Ben (the boy you’ve never met from Maine.) _

Needless to say, I was mildly offended and didn’t really like you very much. But I would play nice, because this was over letters and you can’t write tone, so I couldn’t be sarcastic or anything with you because you might not get it, even though you had been very sassy with me. Besides, once I actually had started writing, I forgot about being annoyed with you. I just liked writing.

_ Dear BEN-that-was-a-rude-way-to-open-a-letter, _

__ _ You’ve only ever lived in one house?? What? That’s actually pretty cool. Although I think I would get tired of the same place after a while. What kind of books do you read? I like the ones that have a lot of cool magic and different worlds. Those are the most fun to read. _

__ _ I always go outside whenever it rains. We all do. It is pretty fun, but I like the beach better. Usually it gets cold when it rains, and I HATE the cold. _

__ _ I’ve never been to Florida, but I think it’s probably way more swampy than California is. I also heard that they have tons of alligators, and I would not wanna go somewhere with those crawling around. Did you see very many alligators when you went to Florida? _

__ _ Also, I don’t live in the middle of the city so the tourists aren’t too bad. Everywhere is hard to walk to, though. Biking is faster. I also like to draw, so sometimes I go to the city and just draw the tourists and the people I see. There are some weird people in San Diego. _

__ _ Also, I don’t think they send mail in airplanes. Where would they put the passengers’ stuff? Lots of people send letters all the time. I bet it’s the slow mail trucks that take forever to get our letters back and forth. _

__ _ I asked my teacher for some good questions to ask each other, since you didn’t know what to ask. Here they are: _

__ _ What’s your favorite color? (I bet it’s blue, because that’s the color of the envelope you sent me.) _

__ _ What movies do you like? _

__ _ What’s your favorite food? _

__ _ If you could go anywhere in the world, where would it be? _

__

__ _ I think those will be good enough for now. I hope this sends quickly. _

__ _ -Ani _

I didn’t turn it in when I finished writing it because I wanted to get a special envelope for you. My mom gave me money to bike to the store and pick something out myself: something blue, like the one you chose for me, but this one had little gold stars on it. I thought it was wicked, and I was positive that you would like it too.

(Trying to impress you, maybe, boy-I-had-never-met-from-Maine?)

My teacher sent it the very next day, and I got your reply within two weeks, within the first batch of letters that she handed out to my class. The envelope was purple this time. I imagined you picking it out, thinking about what color to send, so this time I didn’t simply tear into the letter with my excitement. I opened it carefully, trying as hard as I could not to rip it too much.

_ Dear Ani, _

__ _ I asked my teacher and she said that there are special planes for mail, so they don’t take up space on the passenger planes. I guess we can’t blame slow mail trucks, then. What a shame. I bet that if we lived in a magic world then we wouldn’t even have to wait for mail. Have you ever read the  _ Harry Potter _ books? Those are my favorite books. _

__ _ I didn’t see any alligators in Florida. And it wasn’t swampy where I was, because we were on the Gulf of Mexico side. The beaches are nice there. I like the warm weather but I like the rain more. Also, you’re lucky to not have to give people directions to places every time you go anywhere. That’s the thing about tourists I don’t like. I don’t like having to talk to strangers. (But these don’t count, because it’s for school and you’re technically not a stranger now.) That’s cool that you’re an artist. You should send me something sometime, I’d love to see. _

__ _ My favorite color IS blue. My favorite movie is  _ The Princess Bride. _ A lot of people say it’s a girl’s movie but I don’t think it matters. Besides, it’s funny and I like it anyway. If I could go anywhere in the world, I would go to Brazil. I want to see the rainforest and I like the sound of the language. It’s very pretty. Where would you go if you could go anywhere in the world? _

__ _ Do you play any instruments? My dad makes me take piano lessons. They’re fun sometimes but it’s a little boring. I just keep taking them so that I can write my own stuff some day. I think it would be really cool to be a musician someday. _

__ _ Sincerely, Ben. _

I grinned and tucked your letter into my pocket. Outside, the sun was shining brightly, beckoning a warm afternoon and fifth graders to run around in its light. It was the perfect California day, but for once I was exciting to go straight home. I had a letter to write. I had an envelope to go pick out.

That night, I sat down at the small desk in my room and pulled out a piece of notebook paper, pencil ready.

_ Dear Ben,... _

* * *

 

**_eight._ ** _ It was three days before I fell from Grace. _

We sprawled out under one of the trees of Eden as you groomed my wings. There were 64 of them, a rainbow gradient between blues and blacks and purples. You carded your fingers through each feather, smoothing down the plumage and carefully avoiding the eyes littering my joints. You were always always always in my line of sight. We were created for the same garrison, two of the best guardian angels that our Father had ever made.

We couldn’t speak, technically.

I could just feel your everything. You could calm my anxieties with waves of positive energy, soothed my afflictions with your affections, lulled me to sleep with your easy, simple, straightforward weariness.

I didn’t like sharing my own emotions with you, though. They were traitorous things, swells of frustration and desire that were unbecoming of a heavenly warrior.

Especially with the War brewing.

(Why do we always find our lives in the midst of chaos? Stars are born when the pressure outside of themselves becomes greater than their internal pressure. Maybe that’s why things always are like this-- we are always pressurized. We are always waiting to explode.)

It was rare that we had a day away from the fighting, but Eden was our sanctuary. You were meditating as you groomed me, each of your eight facial eyes closed gently as you rested within yourself, wings folded close to your back.

_ What are you thinking about, Och? _

(This is a name of yours that I remember with clarity. The name you had before we were heavenly bodies, back when we were just heavenly host.)

Your hands had stilled in the base of my primary wings.

_ You won’t leave me, right? _

Never in any of our lifetimes have you ever asked me anything like that with such uncertainty. It made me ache to my core, sent my soul tumbling.

_ Of course not. Why would you think such a thing? _

An angel’s lie is a condemnation. We both knew this.

We threw ourselves into battle as soon as the next sun rose, leading our battalion against the forces of Morningstar-- no, no, his name was Lucifer now, the Morningstar was dead-- with their twisted souls with broken wings and black and gold and red eyes.

(This was the first lifetime where I knew the pain of killing a brother, a friend, a lover. It wasn’t the last. If only we had retained our memories as mortals. I would have known to trust you, body and soul, as I had in heaven.)

Swords of metal not found in Earthly planetary bodies clashed, ringing like bells as we blocked attacks and covered each other’s blind spots, and, oh, there is a  _ reason _ we are ‘The Team.’

(We knew in this lifetime that we were--  _ are-- _ soulmates.)

Michael’s flaming sword guided us as he pressed Lucifer back. I hadn’t quite understand at first how an angel could betray their brethren like this, but now I knew. It was the anger, the desire for something besides obedience, a crack of free will in an angel’s stoic exterior.

I fell because I had wanted you. In the most human, unholy way possible. I had wanted to entwine my soul with yours, abandon my garrison, my army, my brothers, all for you. I wanted us to explore the universe together and alone but for each other’s company.

I fell, and our Father punished me by granting me my only wish.

Thus we became galaxies, destined to always be just out of reach, mortal lives without past memories.

* * *

 

**_nine._ ** _ You had a treehouse. _

The big oak that it resided in was right near the edge of your yard, its long branches stretching over the property line and shading my own backyard. The fence was too high for me to see over, but I had always loved climbing. It was the peak of Kansan July, the most wicked summer that I’d ever lived through, and I had long since grown bored of climbing the two maples in my own yard. I knew every crack and crevice, every cicada shell and empty bird nest.

My next greatest adventure was those oak branches hanging over the redwood fence.

I spent hours leaping up, trying in vain to catch hold of its bark, but all my six-year-old fingers could manage was yanking green leaves from their perch. It was a lost cause.

When my mother came home from work, she laughed at the sight of me glaring up at that oak tree.

_ Come inside, Ani, _ she called.  _ It’s getting dark. _

I couldn’t reach those oak branches for many years after, but by the time I was nine that determination had been refocused on other things: tinkering with my mother’s computer, learning how to skateboard, sweet talking my way into getting a scraggly old blue-haired cat from the shelter four blocks away.

By the time I was fourteen, I’d forgotten that you had an oak tree. I was too focused on wasting away hours skating up and down our too-flat street, my elderly cat lazily watching from the foot of my driveway. All I wanted to do was impress the cute girl who lived across the street from us.

(I hadn’t realized that it was  _ your _ attention that I’d caught instead.)

One of the stuffy old men up the street called Neighborhood Watch on me a few weeks later. My mother was horrified, restricted me to either inside or in the backyard. That was when I rediscovered your oak tree.

It hadn’t grown in the past eight years, but I had. I was shocked that those narrow branches could hold my weight, but I wasn’t done growing yet according to my mother.

I wonder how much it had startled you when your treehouse started to tremble. All these years I hadn’t known it was there; all these years you had sat in that tree to escape… everything.

We stared at each other with wide eyes through the single wooden window in that treehouse, unsure of the situation or what exactly we were even doing.

_ Hi, _ I had laughed at last.  _ D’you mind if I come in? _

There wasn’t anything particularly incredible about the house. It was small, obviously made for a maximum occupancy of two children, not two gawky teenagers. The walls and floor were bare save for a too-old navy bean bag chair that had fit to your form a long time ago.

_ You’re already here, aren’t you? _ you sassed right back, already moving over to accommodate me.

Our knees overlapped each other.

_ I’ve seen you skating, _ you told me.  _ You’re pretty alright. _

I had pretended to be offended, scoffing and crossing my arms. (Maybe it wasn’t all entirely pretend-- but you laughed and laughed at me.) I was better than ‘pretty alright’-- or, I  _ would _ be if I had somewhere other than our flat asphalt street to practice on. The skatepark was too far away.

It was with the indignant jerk of my chin that I finally looked up and saw the ceiling of your treehouse. It was the same dark blue as your bean bag chair, constellations delicately painted in white gesso and labelled with a fine brushstroke. There were well over thirty of them, their lines crossing and invading each other’s spaces. It was breathtaking.

_ You labelled Leo wrong, _ I pointed out.  _ Those clusters aren’t part of the constellation itself, just stray stars in its path. _

_ What do you know about astronomy? _ you’d challenged me. The quirk of your lips when you smirk is infused into my very soul.

_ Not much, but I’m a Leo so I know it pretty well, _ I answered haughtily. _ It’s not a very hard path to draw. _

Oh, how you’d boiled! I knew I shouldn’t have egged you on like that-- they were your  _ stars, _ they were your  _ masterpiece-- _ but it got you talking. You told me about all of them: Ursa Major and Orion’s Belt, Draco and Scorpius, Canis Major and Cepheus, each star that made up my zodiac sign and the starfield that they reside in. You were a Capricorn. You asked me if I knew anything about astrology or astronomy.

_ I believe in aliens. _

You’d rolled your eyes so hard that I was afraid they might sink back into your skull.  _ Who are you, Fox Mulder? _

_ Are you doubting me, Scully? _

Your whole face had lit up as though you truly believed that I wouldn’t know anything about one of the most popular TV series of the 90s. I wasn’t really that into X-Files, but I knew it well enough to tease. I was more into the National Geographic documentaries, but I liked the way that you grinned at me. I didn’t yet know that there were suns in your smiles, but I felt the warmth of your burst of joy.

I opened my mouth to say something-- something stupid, probably, because I didn’t actually know what I was going to say, just that I needed to tell you  _ something-- _ when I heard my mother calling,  _ Ani?! Are you still out here? _

_ Coming, Mom! _ I yelled out the window instead.  _ Sorry, I have to go home. _

_ It’s okay. _

_ Maybe I’ll crash your treehouse some other time. _

When I went to bed that night, I stared at the full moon from my bedroom window and thought about you. It was strange. There were words on the tip of my tongue but I didn’t know quite what they were or how to pronounce them. I couldn’t be sure, but I think I saw your eyes in my dreams, staring out from the black sky and crinkling at the corners when the constellations laughed at me.

(I wanted to tell you that we were made of the same stardust, but human tongues don’t understand starspeak. I just had to hope that you knew, too.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> almost there! thanks for the kudos/comments<3


	4. ten. lovers.

_**ten**. NASA calls me NGC 3808 and you NGC 3008A; together, we form Dancing Galaxies known as Arp 87._

To me, though, you are not a combination of letters and numbers. You are solar systems and exploding stars and a dancing partner. You are the galaxy wrapped up in my arms. Our love is simply gravity. Together, we have been making stars so rapidly that no other galaxy can compete with us. We are burning through our lives trying to find and keep each other.

 

(We’re in the Leo constellation. It’s funny, isn’t it? I spent most of my Earthen lifetimes born under that sign.)

 

They think that we’re colliding. Slowly.

 

(I hope that you’re the death of me.)

 

Within the core of every single one of my stars is the story of a life, a metaphor of blind love, a feather ripped from 64 different vast wings fuelling every single fire within me.

 

You and I created cliches: _nervous shuffling, darting eyes, licking dry lips before sputtering out anxious date me’s_. We built courtship manners across every inhabited galaxy. _Fingers twisting together, the spaces in my hand exactly where yours fits perfectly._ Every one of your dips and curves click with my own. We are asymmetrical in absolute harmony.

 

 _Do you remember me?_ I ask you with nervous fingers twitching at my sides. (Your hair has been slipping out of place. How many times over 10 millennia have I tucked it behind your ear? The motion comes naturally to me now.)

 

You stare at me, assessing me, cataloguing every crack and fissure, every meteoroid and asteroid belt, all my comets and constellations.

 

_Do you remember me?_

 

Every touch between us is like a ghost, a phantom of familiarity for a home that we both lost and both know. No matter what color your irises, your lips, your skin, your hair; no matter the pitch of your voice or the curve of your spine or which of us has to stand on our tip toes; no matter what our corporeal forms show the rest of the worlds, I will always recognize your soul.

 

_Do you remember me?_

I am waiting for you to smile at me-- for us to smile at each other.

 

Time after time, again and again, we’re stuck in this dance. Two steps forward, one step back. (Or is it one step forward, two steps back?)

 

 _Do you remember me?_ I ask you with tidal waves of uncertainty crashing to the rhythm of my heartbeat. _Do you remember how to say my name in Enochian? Do you know starspeak? Does your tongue shape asteroids in this body?_

 

Your eyes crinkle around the corner when you smile. You’ve always had smile lines, the deepest dimples.

 

You smile as you tell me, _For ten millennia, we have been dancing. Ballet, square, waltzing. Neither of us is the lead. We are equal in everything. Your galaxy is bigger because of all the lifetimes you spent without me as punishment for Falling. We do not complete each other; we complement each other. Your soul is more recognizable than my own. Your name falls from my tongue easier than my own. Your spinning planetary bodies are as much home as my own._

_You are a Gladiator, a little boy from San Diego, a barista and neighbor, Fox Mulder and a vampire Slayer. I have spent lifetimes as your teacher and lifetimes as your student. Once upon a time, I called you ‘Padawan.’ Once upon a time, you called me Och as I groomed your wings in the Garden of Eden. You are the slow but steady collision into me, and you are going to be the death of me._

_How could I ever forget you?_

 

You take my trembling hands and fill every one of my gaps with your stardust. You repair my wings by giving me your own. You hold me as gravity shakes me up and down; you know how to keep me steady.

 

Once upon a time, _home_ meant a different dimension. _Home_ has sometimes been a building, a weak structure that collapses eventually. Sometimes _home_ referred to the presence of mortals. _Home_ has been many things throughout each reincarnation. In the end, though, _home_ has always been you.

 

You whisper my name like a prayer. Your nails are smooth and short, just barely grazing my skin when you move to cup my face with the gentle curve of your fingertips.

 

 _How could I ever forget you?_ you whisper into the star clusters at my center. _How, when I Fell for you?_

 

I lean into your touch, the lack of callouses in your skin, closing my eyes against the brightness of supernovae. Everything is warm. Here, with you, I could sleep for an eternity. You make me feel safe.

 

(That’s why I always have to throw myself in front of you-- to protect you. To keep my safety net safe.)

 

 _You can relax now._ You don’t have to say it aloud; I can feel it emitting from your presence. _You can relax now. You’re safe_.

 

I take a deep breath and hook my arms around your waist, expelling hydrogen and helium from dusty lungs. The stars making up the fringes of my arms flare up at the contact, lifetimes recognizing you at last. I have been waiting for this for so long. The knots in my shoulders take decades to unwind, having spent too long tense as my soul searched for yours.

 

You lean your whole weight against me and press the chastest of kisses to the crease of my shoulder.

 

_You’re home now._

 

It thrums in my blood.

 

 _I’m home now,_ I smile back. _**We** are home now._

* * *

_**rebirth**. I open my eyes for the first time in what feels like forever._

    Everything is bright, pale yellow lights from every direction blinding me. I have to blink several times for my eyes to adjust enough for me to squint. I’m not sure where I am, but then you step into view: beautiful, pristine. Somewhere in my soul, I recognize you.

 

 _You’re awake,_ you smile. _You’ve been asleep for some time now._

  
_I know._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Formatting errors will be fixed tomorrow when I'm not on my phone.)
> 
> WOOOOOOO! See ya'll next year!
> 
> Come say hi on tumblr- I'm varilia/alienjack!
> 
> If you want a reincarnation song, check out Ke$ha's "Past Lives." I had it stuck in my head a lot while writing this (;

**Author's Note:**

> I had so much fun writing this!!
> 
> Please let me know what you think. I know 2nd person is kind of hard sometimes as a reader but I felt like it was a necessary narrative choice.
> 
> Thanks for reading! Comments + Kudos appreciated


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